


Meet your Maker

by doomrichards



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Asphyxiation, Bloodletting, Canon-Typical Violence, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Rough Sex, Substitution, Victor’s turn in the masochist seat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomrichards/pseuds/doomrichards
Summary: Victor invites Maker to re-make him.
Relationships: Reed Richards (Ultimateverse)/Victor von Doom, Reed Richards/Victor von Doom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: DoomReed Week 2020





	Meet your Maker

**Author's Note:**

> I think Maker actually being the one to re-scar Victor would have been a twisted mirror of Reed who healed Victor’s face at the end of Secret Wars. So this is that. Takes place around the end of Infamous Iron Man, the what could and should have been.

“You dare to put your life in my hands?” Maker brandished the scalpel. “I had my Doom killed, you know. He was too dangerous to let live.”

“You had your Doom killed, but it wasn’t by your hand, was it?” Victor turned his back from Maker as he walked toward the balcony of his hotel room. “Your Benjamin did the deed on your end and you wanted to seek out the one here, too.”

“Hmm… how like you to be so certain.” Maker closed the door behind him as he stepped deeper into the room. Doom wasn’t wearing any armor or anything really, save for a green towel wrapped around the waist. He glanced at the bare back that was facing him; did the man really not expect the plunge of a knife there? Still, that wasn’t where Doom asked for a knife. Curiosity was why he was here, if this Doom planned to kill him, this was a peculiar way to do it.

Victor watched the slight crease on Maker’s brow as the younger man approached. The Maker was in a shirt and blazer but he wore the pale eye and scarred flesh proudly, not like the devil who had disguised himself with Reed’s perfected face.

Maker carefully studied this Doom as the man sat down in a chair. He eyed the stray droplets of water that glistened on that chest, and then to that freshly clean-shaven face. So, the man was prepared. There was no offered chair for him as guest, but that did not matter. He gripped the gifted knife in his hand tighter.

“Surely you can manage this, yourself.” Victor leaned back in his chair, the towel at his hip slightly loosened as he did so. “Breaking into the Baxter Building is child’s play for you. I’m sure your bio-signatures would pass every scan. Instead, you accepted my invitation here.”

“My body would be a match, wouldn’t it?” Maker leisurely took another few steps before he got on his knees. 

Victor held his eye-level gaze and briefly mused on variations in the multiverse, the Maker’s eyes were blue, not brown. The golden candlelight of the room helped to melt that piercing stare, regardless. He’d known how to spot doppelgängers, there were little tell-tale clues, any learner—any neophyte of the mystic arts would know. And yet, he had been fooled by that construct of his mother. He’d been nearly fooled by the devil himself.

There was nothing to fool him now. Not constructs, not good deeds done in a borrowed tin mantle.

“You tire of being the hero, Victor?” Maker tilted the man’s chin with his free hand. The face was a near match to Victor Van Damme. The way he sat certainly tried to suggest kingship.

Victor didn’t realize he’d bristle at such simple skin contact. He thought of the apparition of his mother and Richards who had done the same gesture against her cheek. He knew this was not the Richards he grew up with…

“Maker. I asked for the blade, not your hand.”

“Hmm, yes, I can read. Quite the invitation… but the address… Speak my other name.”

If Victor was going to speak of a devil, let it be this one. “Reed Richards.”

The real double nodded in approval. “Not the one you knew.” He tilted his own head just to throw off any symmetry, and to get a better look at his canvas. “But, I am your Maker, am I not?”

“Yes.” Victor allowed the light ghosting of fingertips against his face.

“I dislike imitation… but you don’t pretend to be anyone do you, Doom?” Maker delicately twirled the scalpel in his hand.

“No.” Victor said with some degree of impatience seeping in. He turned his gaze to the bladed instrument in Maker’s hand. 

He instantly lost view of it as Maker made his first incision. His fingers curled against the chair rests, and he fought down the instinct to put their grip around another’s neck.

The cut was not deep, but it was enough that the underlying muscle would scar. That nightmare of a man knew where to pierce skin.

Victor held as still as a sculpture in progress and let his master work.

The only sounds in the room were the sounds of a blade against flesh and unsteady breaths. Victor felt his tears sting the fresh, open wounds. He let his eyelids fall closed against the pain and let himself lose sight of the man holding the blade.

“Do you think that we deserve each other? That perhaps the universes left only you and me, the worst of our kind?” Maker barely whispered it, but with their faces so close, it was enough.

Victor didn’t answer even as his eyes reopened. Instead, he placed a hand on the hem of the Maker’s shirt, and his fingertips brushed gently against the dark fabric.

“Hold still.” Maker stretched his free hand around Victor’s wrist in a grip, just enough to show the power he’d gained from the Negative Zone experiment, it was too long ago to think of as a curse now.

For his part, Victor relaxed his hand and did not move further upon those words. Maker could not stop a smile… how well-behaved this Victor was tonight.

Victor’s face mirrored that smile, the movement twisted and pushed against the multiple wounds, and prompted more rivulets of blood to flow. 

Maker tried to resist brushing the slight nick of a scar that was present even on the healed face, the one that sat just on the left cheek. He let the bloodied scalpel fall with a clatter onto the table nearby.

Victor frowned at the sudden noise and pausation of the task.

Maker curved his fingers in front of Victor’s face as they steadily shaped to form hardened claws. “Ask for my hand.”

Victor sucked at a cut that had been sliced into his bottom lip to prevent a hasty, desperate plea from escaping. He pondered on the coppery traces and the Maker's craft thus far. 

After a moment, Maker moved his hand away from directly in front of Victor to flex his digits above the flame of a large candle instead. The flicker of the fire failed to burn the stiffened elastic flesh, instead it lingered at his palm and shifted the shadows upon his face.

Victor’s eyes were already watery from their earlier efforts and his glare had caused some tears to finally fall and pool with the blood against his face. He licked at the mixture that had been dripping against his lips before speaking. “Please.”

Maker placed a finger against those lips as soon as the word was uttered, and pressed the pointed tip against the indentation of that upper lip, it was barely discernible at this point.

Victor let his word be sealed by that hot touch and shivered with the sweat that had cooled against his bare skin.

Maker removed his finger and began to gently brush that small pale scar on Victor's cheek with his thumb-pad. As soon as he felt Victor's subtle lean into the touch, he pushed the sharpened tip against it, sinking deeper and tearing it apart.

Unlike the blade, heat and pain accompanied the jagged, less clean cut rather than present itself after the initial strike, and Victor relished the difference. The heat of that hand was not enough to brand, nor enough to cauterize, but with that touch he could feel his veins sing.

With that first taste of blood spilled by his own hand-flesh rather than the steel of the blade, Maker viciously and decisively glided his entire claw across the right side of Victor’s face.

There was an exhale of breath and a snarl from the seated man.

The man who was kneeling allowed himself to suck at the wetted tips. “Ahh… yes, that’s more like it.”

Victor closed his eyes as Maker brushed the soaked rag over his face. He ignored the several points of pain as if it had never left.

“Now you look the part.” His Maker smiled.

“A fresh start.” Doom replied.

No sooner had Maker put down the rag did Doom suddenly stand up, and the towel that hung loose against his hip fell away completely.

Maker smirked at the full view of Victor von Doom's rising interest that had been building throughout their activity. “I gathered the invitation was for more than you to taste my blade…” He stood up and slipped off his dark blazer to carelessly throw it against the vacated chair.

Doom shoved the man with the slender muscled build toward the hotel bed even as Maker eagerly slid down himself. “Indeed… you will now be the sheath to Doom’s own blade.”

“I can more than handle it. Though really, I expected dinner at least…” Maker shoved away the many pillows that were nearby, then he kicked off his shoes. He had to admit it was an attractive proposition, the naked man before him certainly was.

Maker leaned in toward the man he had marked up, and sucked on that bottom lip until it was reddened and swollen. There was more he could do to that skin even without a knife.

He was pushed away and onto the covers before he could slip in his tongue. He idly noted the lavender sheets that smelled of the same flower as Doom turned away from him to open the nearby nightstand. He supposed that they had already done quite the extended foreplay if Doom was so eager to fetch the lube.

Doom reached into the drawer and there was a sound of metallic tinkling before he pulled out a familiar metal mask and wore it over the freshly inflicted wounds. He took a small golden chain from the drawer and clasped it on just as easily as his mask.

“You know the point is to wear less clothing—” Maker said as he finished pulling off his own trousers. Still, he took in the fact the mask and piece of jewelry were the only articles of clothing worn by Doctor Doom.

“I will have to help you make your point then.” Doom gripped the other man’s shirt tighter this time. “How readily you climb into bed with Doom…”

Maker raised his arms to aid in slipping the shirt off. "Of course. I'm ready to lie in this bed you've made. Are you?"

Doom groped at parts of the Maker’s body and the younger man was surprised at how his body reacted. Each sensitive point that was palmed over sparked pleasure — he’d expected the older man to be more experienced but just how was this expert knowledge of his —this body gleaned? There was easily thousands of years of godhood between the two of them but this difference in carnal knowledge remained.

This close, Maker saw a small locket on the chain that glinted against the man’s bare chest. He observed how the delicate little thing caught the glow of the candles as easily as that terrible metal mask.

Doom slipped a thumb beneath the elastic band of the cotton underwear and began to stroke circles against the Maker’s hipbone that would bruise even its unique flexible properties.

Maker took the attention but leaned in close to slip his tongue through and past the mask’s mouth guard, his stretching powers formed a serpentine shape that licked at the blood that hadn’t yet dried and teased the cuts he knew he’d carved earlier in the evening.

Maker hadn’t even begun to map the full face when Doom pushed Maker’s mouth away from his own and pressed a finger against the younger man’s lips.

Maker thought about disobeying the simple command before he opened his mouth to suck in Doom’s finger that was joined by another. He lifted and flexed his hips briefly as Doom pulled down his dark blue underpants.

Doom used only spit to slick Maker’s hole because the rest should be easy for the man to take. He felt the man accept his fingers with no resistance.

It took only a few moments of Doom jacking himself to hardness with the Maker’s eager eyes on him.

This Reed Richards had not been offered a seat earlier but now he had quite the space to sit on as he positioned himself over Doom’s upright and uncircumcised dick.

Doom was focused on the point where their bodies met, and felt the slow, sweet stretch of that body…

Maker gripped at the sheets as he felt himself be penetrated. “You’re going to impale me all night aren’t y—”

Maker’s words were cut short by the brutal pace set by Doom. A relentless, certain, and possessive action as an answer.

Maker was unable to speak discernibly as Doom’s cock slicked in and out of him. He thoroughly felt the man’s vigor. He could do nothing but throw his arms around the back he’d glanced at earlier and claw it up with his own regular fingertips. It would still leave marks, a bonus marking for this masked man who had asked  _ so _ nicely.

Doom hummed as the mask’s electronic voice box adjusted his vocalizations and he took in Maker’s own halted cries.

After several breathless moans, Maker managed an exaggerated gasp and a whisper. “V-Victor…”

Doom stilled with himself buried deep in Maker, unmoving, save for his twitching cock.

Doom could feel Maker press his cheek against the sharper points of his mask, almost as if the man were… snuggling. He felt a puff of hot air in his ear before a familiar voice twisted with venom spoke. “Am I wrong? He would call you that.”

Doom felt a tight squeeze of the muscle walls he had been sliding in and out of.

“Maybe… maybe when you scream  _ Richards _ you'll be talking to me now.” There was nothing but pure amusement in the younger man’s voice as he caught his breath.

“Doom will address you however he wishes.” Doom gripped tightly at Maker’s head of hair, there was not a single streak of grey in those dark chestnut locks. "Scabbard, perhaps?"

The Maker pulled at Doom's hair with strength just as easily before he changed tactics to gently brushed aside a stray lock of hair that had slipped behind the masked man’s ear. “Oh  _ Doom… _ Your face matches your true rotted core again, doesn’t it? Your face may be enough for you… but is my face enough?” Maker mimicked a sad, desperate pout even as his eyes glinted with mischief—how had his weepy counterpart acted?

Doom slammed a flat palm against the mouth of that twisted mirror of his belov— of his arch-foe’s face. He steadily increased the force of even his unarmored hand and loomed over the Maker. He tilted his head at an angle to induce part of the wounds to leak down through the spaces in the mask and let droplets fall onto his insolent bedfellow.

Maker ignored the wetness of the blood that fell onto the scarred side of his face, as well as the come that was currently leaking out of his ass. He twisted against the hand on his mouth, and his neck was a stretched corkscrew as he freed himself to speak. “I pity you, Victor. Your Reed is dead and gone. He couldn’t even stand to be in the same universe as you. I’m only letting you fuck me because I’m fucking with you.”

Doom’s hand swiftly moved to curve around the Maker’s neck. He didn't bother to gauge the pressure applied to the pliant flesh due to years of experience and quite frankly, his patience was frayed.

Maker leaned up and toward the face of Doom, with his eyes half-lidded and a smile that showed both his dimples and sharp teeth. “Going to kill me?”

“Doom merely wishes to grant you a little death.” Doom answered, before he wrapped his other hand around the Maker’s length.

* * *

Reed picked up the hand-held data-pad he had dropped onto the floor earlier. The clattering sound had echoed in the thankfully empty multidimensional meeting room.

He tried to control the dull thud of his heart against his chest and the lingering flush of his face. He hadn’t really watched any… films that leaned that way and rarely had any inclination to… and yet this situation had unexpectedly presented itself.

To watch without interfering was more difficult than Reed had thought it would be. There was nothing to nullify what he had just witnessed. He hadn’t been able to look away, he could only… he could only shamefully watch while rooted to his council chair.

The scarring session had sent his heart to his stomach but it had been Victor’s choice to make. To steal the moment or halt it would have been arrogant and ego-charged, as Victor had put it. But this… this encounter had been another thing entirely.

Victor felt that way about him.

Victor wanted him in that way.

Victor had put the mask back on.

Victor… Victor was hurting himself.

“Reed? We need to assist in that outing on Earth-2319 later this week.” The Reed of another Earth adjusted the red-tinted goggles he wore on his head. “I stayed in the upper labs later than usual to get a head start, but you understand how we Reeds are.”

“I… ah. Yes.” Reed gripped his hand-held screen that had long blacked out and locked closed. He hadn’t noticed the other Reed’s approach. He turned around in his chair. “What is our council’s mission again?”

The other Reed made a befuddled expression. He looked at the Reed of Earth-616 who had been most eager in their efforts and collaboration on the general goal. “No more Dooms… in the way that we can avoid damage to Doom— help him any way we can.”

“And prevent harm if we can, yes.” Reed paused for a moment. “I’m afraid I have to take a leave of absence. Something came up. I will be briefing everyone this week.” There were going to be redacted details of course, this was as transparent as he would be.

If the other Reed could pick up the distress in a fellow Reed’s voice he didn’t mention it. “Right. I have to get to my world’s Latveria… there’s a special occasion.”

Reed’s blood chilled as he remembered the annual date he had always celebrated with Victor at the Latverian embassy, that often led to Castle Doom itself. Rapprochement festival. Victor’s mother’s birthday. It was.. It was tonight. Had been tonight.

Reed had noticed the locket around Victor’s neck, but it hadn’t occurred to him. He’d been distracted by everything else. He quickly nodded in understanding as he waved out the other Reed and dimmed the lights of the meeting room with a few adjustments on his data-pad.

When he was finally alone, he swallowed the despair that rose in his throat and thought of how to return. For where there was Doctor Doom, there was Mister Fantastic.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I would not write another Maker/Victor but Maker has such a sadist streak and Victor was really depressed and downright seeking punishment during IIM. This was for DoomReed Week 2020 Day 5: Uno Reverse Card, with Victor as the masochist.
> 
> If I had a nickel for every time I've written Maker/Victor but with Victor truly yearning for Reed, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.


End file.
